Clear as day. Somebody is framing me.”
Her body trembled as
the declaration she hadn’t wanted to make hung in the air. Michael did not attempt to refute her,
probably because there was no point. Deep in her soul, she knew there was no argument. She knew what was going on. The killer had targeted her, her , to take the fall for his
crimes. Why he’d picked her, she
had no idea. But he had. And then, systematically, he’d figured
out where she lived. He’d spied on
her comings and goings. And at some
point, when he knew she was out of the house, he’d entered her backyard, dug a
few holes, and buried some dead frogs, which he had killed by varying doses of
curare. And then he’d tipped off Crimewatch .
In the coffeehouse,
amazingly, life went on. A woman
wheeling a stroller smacked her carryall into Annie and called a half-baked
apology over her shoulder. Two male
teenagers bent over a laptop, jabbering in techno-geek. A young woman distractedly sipped an
iced-coffee concoction without shifting her eyes from the pages of a chick-lit
novel.
Finally Michael
spoke. “I’m having trouble
believing that somebody went to such elaborate lengths to set you up. It’s so farfetched. But I agree with you that I can’t think
of another explanation. Unless the
frogs turn out to be nothing.”
“They won’t.” Annie was as certain of that as she was
of her own name. The truth of it
nearly brought her to tears.
Michael reached over
and grasped her hand.
“I don’t know what I’d
do without you, Michael.”
“You don’t have to
worry about that. You have to worry
about a lot of other things, but not that.” He patted her hand, then let it go. “And now I’ve had an idea. You should retain the services of a
criminal defense attorney. I know
just the man.”
That had occurred to
her as well. “You don’t think it’s
too soon?”
“The man I’m thinking
of works in tandem with a private detective. They can start looking into this, try to
find out who’s behind it. It’s none
too soon for that.”
It sounded
wonderful. Smart, wily people on
her side. There was only one
problem. “Michael, I can’t afford
such a thing. Do you think they’d
do it pro bono? Because of the high-profile
nature of the case?”
“They don’t need to do
it pro bono. I’ll pay for it.”
“Michael, no, I couldn’t—”
He raised his hands to
forestall any objections. “Annie,
listen to me. I want to do this and
I can afford it. Remember, I want
this killer caught, too. I have an
important stake in this. In fact,
even before this I was considering hiring the P.I. to try to break this thing
open. The investigation isn’t
moving fast enough for me. You
think about it,” he added, probably guessing that the longer she did, the more
appeal the idea would assume. He
rolled his chair back from the table. “Shall we head home?”
*
A few hours after Annie
and Michael got back to his home, she had unpacked and freshened up and was
lying—fully clothed except for shoes—atop the bed in the
guesthouse. The bed was a
super-luxurious, multi-pillowed, fluffy kind of affair—the sort that
required a footstool to mount. Like
everything around her, it was designed to please the eye and the soul.
Annie saw Renee
Ellsworth’s hand in every detail. The pale peach walls and whitewashed hardwood floors, with a few
hand-loomed throw rugs. The expert
mix of flowered and striped fabrics for draperies, upholstery and bed
linens. The whimsical bric-a-brac
husband and wife had collected in their travels, like the small bottle of PISA
nut liqueur on the mantel that leaned at the same angle as Italy’s famed tower.
The main house was
equally delightful. It was a
two-story gray clapboard home on a double lot, with numerous windows and French
doors, most thrown open to the ocean air.
Her body trembled as
the declaration she hadn’t wanted to make hung in the air. Michael did not attempt to refute her,
probably because there was no point. Deep in her soul, she knew there was no argument. She knew what was going on. The killer had targeted her, her , to take the fall for his
crimes. Why he’d picked her, she
had no idea. But he had. And then, systematically, he’d figured
out where she lived. He’d spied on
her comings and goings. And at some
point, when he knew she was out of the house, he’d entered her backyard, dug a
few holes, and buried some dead frogs, which he had killed by varying doses of
curare. And then he’d tipped off Crimewatch .
In the coffeehouse,
amazingly, life went on. A woman
wheeling a stroller smacked her carryall into Annie and called a half-baked
apology over her shoulder. Two male
teenagers bent over a laptop, jabbering in techno-geek. A young woman distractedly sipped an
iced-coffee concoction without shifting her eyes from the pages of a chick-lit
novel.
Finally Michael
spoke. “I’m having trouble
believing that somebody went to such elaborate lengths to set you up. It’s so farfetched. But I agree with you that I can’t think
of another explanation. Unless the
frogs turn out to be nothing.”
“They won’t.” Annie was as certain of that as she was
of her own name. The truth of it
nearly brought her to tears.
Michael reached over
and grasped her hand.
“I don’t know what I’d
do without you, Michael.”
“You don’t have to
worry about that. You have to worry
about a lot of other things, but not that.” He patted her hand, then let it go. “And now I’ve had an idea. You should retain the services of a
criminal defense attorney. I know
just the man.”
That had occurred to
her as well. “You don’t think it’s
too soon?”
“The man I’m thinking
of works in tandem with a private detective. They can start looking into this, try to
find out who’s behind it. It’s none
too soon for that.”
It sounded
wonderful. Smart, wily people on
her side. There was only one
problem. “Michael, I can’t afford
such a thing. Do you think they’d
do it pro bono? Because of the high-profile
nature of the case?”
“They don’t need to do
it pro bono. I’ll pay for it.”
“Michael, no, I couldn’t—”
He raised his hands to
forestall any objections. “Annie,
listen to me. I want to do this and
I can afford it. Remember, I want
this killer caught, too. I have an
important stake in this. In fact,
even before this I was considering hiring the P.I. to try to break this thing
open. The investigation isn’t
moving fast enough for me. You
think about it,” he added, probably guessing that the longer she did, the more
appeal the idea would assume. He
rolled his chair back from the table. “Shall we head home?”
*
A few hours after Annie
and Michael got back to his home, she had unpacked and freshened up and was
lying—fully clothed except for shoes—atop the bed in the
guesthouse. The bed was a
super-luxurious, multi-pillowed, fluffy kind of affair—the sort that
required a footstool to mount. Like
everything around her, it was designed to please the eye and the soul.
Annie saw Renee
Ellsworth’s hand in every detail. The pale peach walls and whitewashed hardwood floors, with a few
hand-loomed throw rugs. The expert
mix of flowered and striped fabrics for draperies, upholstery and bed
linens. The whimsical bric-a-brac
husband and wife had collected in their travels, like the small bottle of PISA
nut liqueur on the mantel that leaned at the same angle as Italy’s famed tower.
The main house was
equally delightful. It was a
two-story gray clapboard home on a double lot, with numerous windows and French
doors, most thrown open to the ocean air.
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